


Second Star To The Right

by Lavellington



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, It's a fuckin Star Trek AU lads, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:42:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavellington/pseuds/Lavellington
Summary: Lieutenant Todd Brotzman has been serving aboard the USS Ridgely for a year when he meets Lieutenant Dirk Gently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anansi-galpals (Anansi_galpals)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anansi_galpals/gifts).



> I dedicate this to anansigalpals on tumblr, who made me a [hella cool header](http://lavellington.tumblr.com/post/164573898292/look-at-the-amazing-header-that-anansigalpals) for my blog, and in exchange asked for a fic about space. I don't know if this is what they had in mind, but have a teensy Star Trek AU. More chapters coming this week.
> 
> Also: this takes place in the Original Series timeline, so I'm picturing the bridge of the USS Ridgely looking a lot like the old school Enterprise from the TV show, and Todd and Dirk sitting where Sulu and Chekov would sit, respectively, rocking those gold tunics. Picture Dirk with a Davy Jones wig if it makes you happy. I'm not here to judge.

Todd doesn't immediately notice how weird the new navigations officer is.

He thinks he can be forgiven for this: since Nichols left, Captain Spring has yet to settle on a permanent replacement, and Todd's gotten used to a revolving cast of faces in the seat next to his, some friendlier than others. He keeps to himself, just like always. Anyone who has the bright idea of striking up a conversation to break the monotony of star-charting is soon put off by his lack of response.

This new guy is persistent, though.

"Todd," he says, out of the corner of his mouth. "Psst. Todd."

"What is it–" Todd glances up, flipping through the list of names in his mind. Not Daniels, Ng, Marquez... oh, right. "–Gently? Problem with the course?"

"No," Gently says, dismissively, "I'm sure that's all fine. It's only... have you noticed that Captain Spring is in an unusually good mood today?"

Todd stares at him.

"No?" he says.

"Well," Gently says, leaning towards Todd with his left elbow propped on the console, "I have. I bet that means Ambassador Spring is coming aboard. He's only ever this cheery when he's about to see his daughter."

"I heard Ambassador Spring was staying on Rigel V for another week," Todd says, then curses himself. He looks resolutely back at his star charts.

Gently brightens at getting an actual response, looking furtively over his shoulder at Commander Estevez before he answers.

"I have a feeling she's finishing up on Rigel early," he confides. "I bet you a cup of coffee I'm right."

Despite himself, Todd turns his head to look at him again.

"Every replicator on the ship dispenses coffee, including the one in my quarters. I can have coffee whenever I want."

"Yes," Gently says, "but if I'm right, you have to have a coffee _with me_."

Todd stares at him.

"What?"

"Well, if we're going to be sitting next to each other every day for the foreseeable future, I think we should get to know each other, that's all."

"Every day?" Todd says, through an impending sense of dread.

"Oh," Gently says, his smile getting brighter, "Captain Spring assigned me as the new navigation officer on the alpha shift. Didn't I mention?"

He sits up straight again as his console chirps with incoming coordinates.

"Look at that! The Captain wants me to plot a course for Rigel V."

He aims a grin at Todd, his fingers flying over the console a little too fast for Todd's liking. At least Nichols had been _thorough_ , even if he'd had a tendency to kiss the captain's ass a little too much.

"I think we're going to be great friends," Gently continues, oblivious to Todd's doubts. "I can already tell we've got oodles in common. We're both... in Starfleet! We both like to wear gold!"

Todd looks down at his gold tunic.

"This is the command track uniform," he says.

"We're both command track," Gently says, without missing a beat. "Excellent point, Todd."

"How long have you been a navigations officer?" Todd asks, watching Gently's movements.

"Oh, ages," Gently says airily. "Don't worry about that. I'm very good at getting where I need to be."

"Lieutenant," Estevez says, settling back in the command chair. "I want that course plotted and laid in before the captain returns to the bridge."

"Course plotted and laid in, Commander," Gently says cheerfully.

Todd's console chirps softly.

"Course received," he acknowledges.

"Good," Estevez says. "Warp six."

Todd pauses, his fingers hovering over the console.

"Warp six, sir?"

Estevez's voice turns sharp.

"Did I stutter, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," Todd says. "Warp six, sir. Acknowledged."

He steals a glance at Gently before they go to warp, and gets a smile and a thumbs-up in return.

 

*

 

Amanda comes and drags him out of his quarters that night after dinner, overriding his privacy lock and all of his increasingly loud protests.

"Come on, dude," she says. " I thought I was supposed to be the recluse in the family. We serve on the same ship, and I _never_ see you."

"I see you on the bridge every day," he says, following her into the turbolift. "Where are we going?"

She grins at him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Poker."

He grins back.

"What would mom say?"

"Mom would clean us _all_ out, and you know it."

When they get to Ken's quarters he's already set up the card table, with four folding chairs placed around it. He groans when he sees Todd and Amanda at the door.

"Oh, come on," he says, stepping aside to let them in. "Both of you? How is that fair?"

"Don't worry," Todd says, "we'll go easy on you."

"Well, I call bullshit on _that_ for starters," Ken says, getting another chair for Todd.

"You got any booze?" Amanda says.

Ken produces a bottle of viciously blue liquid from under the table with a grin.

"Romulan ale," he says, "the real deal. Have as much as you want, give the rest of us a fighting chance."

Amanda whoops and takes the bottle from him, uncorking it and filling the glasses lined up on the table.

"Who else is coming?" Todd asks, looking dubiously at the unnaturally blue liquor.

"Kevin Rand from botany, and Sharon Ng, operations."

"I know her," Todd says. "She used to sit next to me on the bridge."

"I know," Ken says, raising his eyebrows. "She says you're a grumpy bastard."

Amanda snorts.

"Spending time with him socially is not going to help with that," she says, passing them each a glass.

"I don't like to talk when I'm on duty," Todd says, not at all defensively. "It's distracting."

"Speaking of which, how's it going with Dirk?" Amanda asks, and it takes Todd a second to join the dots.

"You mean Gently? He's a pain in the ass. He tried to play I-Spy with me earlier. While the captain was on the bridge. And he keeps trying to get me to socialise with him."

"I don't get why the Captain likes him," Amanda says. "I mean, I like him. But Spring doesn't like _anyone_. Except Commander Black."

"And his daughter," Todd says.

"Spring's okay," Ken says. "Dude could have been a good engineer, if he wasn't command track." 

He says _command track_ with the air of someone who thinks a desire for command is an unfortunate ailment. This, Todd has noted, seems to be an engineer thing.

"He's suited to command," Todd says. "Some people just like to be in charge. Make the tough calls."

Ken waves this away.

"Give me engines over people any day, man. Engines I _understand_."

"People suck," Amanda agrees, picking up the deck of cards and shuffling them absently.

"Amanda," Todd says, "you're a communications officer."

"And I repeat," she says, snapping the deck, "people suck."

"Hear, hear," Ken says, raising his glass, and Todd rolls his eyes and joins the toast. It's not like he _disagrees_.

 

*

 

Gently's "feeling" turns out to be right: two days later they arrive at Rigel V, and they stay in orbit just long enough to beam up Ambassador Lydia Spring and her aides. They then lay in a course for Starbase 11, best speed. What should be a sixteen day journey is going to take them less than a week. Todd wonders what could possibly be so urgent on Starbase 11 that he hasn't heard about on the vidfeeds.

"I heard someone's getting court-martialled," Gently says, as they warp out of Rigellian space. Spring and Estevez have gone to welcome their guests aboard the USS Ridgely, and Ken is in the command chair, paying more attention to the schematics on his PADD than the conversations around him. "Someone _important_. And Lydia Spring is a witness."

Todd shoots him a sceptical look.

"Where did you hear that?"

"I overheard it in the mess," Gently says. "Sounds plausible to me. Why else would they be in such a rush?"

Todd frowns.

"I don't know," he admits.

"If you ask me _–_ " Gently says, but he's cut off by Ken barking,

"Captain on the bridge!"

They all straighten up and turn back to their stations as the turbolift doors _whoosh_ closed behind Spring and Estevez. Ken stands to attention next to the captain's chair, and Estevez goes to his station.

"Mr Brotzman, report," Spring says, sitting in the chair.

"On course, sir," Todd says. "We plotted a minor diversion to avoid an ion storm, as per my earlier report. It'll only add three hours to our ETA. We should arrive at the Starbase on Friday at 1600 hours, ship's time."

"Thank you, Mr Brotzman," Spring says.

He lowers his voice and starts to talk to Ken about the warp core, and Todd stares at the streaked stars on the viewscreen, thinking about what Gently said. He can feel Amanda looking at him, and when he turns to look at her, she raises her eyebrows at him in a silent question. He shrugs, pushes down the creeping unease, and turns back to his console.

 

 

*

 

Over the next few days, the uneasy feeling only increases, following Todd to the bridge every day, and only letting up slightly when he's in his quarters at night. His sleep is starting to suffer, and he recognises the sensation of being slowly crushed from all sides by anxieties not his own. It feels just like cramming in the library in the Academy, surrounded by hundreds of stressed, over-caffeinated cadets. He wonders if Amanda is suffering too, or if the meds they gave her are working. She seems fine: no bags under her eyes, no haunted look.

In the small hours of the morning, Todd worries that he's turning into a ghost.

Two nights before they're due to arrive at the Starbase, he's woken from a thin, jolting sleep by the chime of his door. He stumbles to open it, yawning.

"Oh," Dirk Gently says, his smile vanishing as he takes in Todd's appearance. "You look _awful_."

"Thanks," Todd says, squinting at him. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to see if you were free for that coffee?" Gently's voice veers upwards uncertainly, his eyes lingering on Todd's no-doubt impressively tousled hair. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"That's okay," Todd says. "I could go for a coffee."

Later he will blame this acceptance on the fact that he's still semi-conscious, but if he's being honest with himself right now anything sounds more inviting than hovering on the edge of sleep, jerked awake by hazy, half-remembered dreams.

Gently brightens, bouncing the way Amanda does when she's pleased. Todd tries to pry open his right eyelid, which is still glued shut.

"Let me get my shoes," he says.

 

*

 

The mess is nearly empty, though it's just after eight. They sit at a table in the corner, Todd yawning into his coffee, and mentally congratulating himself for getting decaf, so he'll actually have a shot at sleeping later. Gently is drinking something with replicated whipped cream on top that makes Todd's stomach ache just looking at it. He's still wearing his gold tunic, and Todd realises he's never seen him in anything else. He plucks at his own grey t-shirt, trying half-heartedly to make it look less slept in.

"So," he says, propping his chin on his hand and trying to ignore the smudge of whipped cream on the tip of Gently's nose, "did you find out anything else about why Lydia Spring is on board?"

"No," Gently says, "I'm not a gossip, you know."

Todd raises an eyebrow, but it's a lot of effort, so he lowers it again.

"You were gossiping about this exact thing two days ago. On the bridge. With me. "

"That's different," Gently says, like Todd's being deliberately obtuse. "I trust you."

" _Why_?"

Gently shrugs.

"I have a good feeling about you?"

"You're the first navigations officer to say that," Todd tells him, taking a sip of coffee.

"Yes," Gently says, without so much as a token shot at diplomacy. "I had heard something to that effect before I started working with you."

"Really," Todd says flatly.

"The word _abrasive_ was used," Gently confides, leaning forward on his elbows. "And the words _obnoxious_ , and _arsehole_."

" _What_?"

"Not that I agree," Gently says hastily. "In a way, I'm glad you scared off all those other navigators. Otherwise we wouldn't get to work together!"

"So, you don't think I'm... abrasive?"

"Well," Gently says, "maybe a little. But I'm sure you have your reasons."

Todd sighs, rubbing at his eyes.

"You have whipped cream on your nose."

"Oh," Gently says, going cross-eyed trying to look at his own nose. He wipes the cream away delicately with a napkin.

"Humans don't like it when I get _too_ friendly with them," Todd says abruptly. "It's one of the main complaints humans have about Betazoids–too friendly. My mom still gets it all the time, and she's been living on Earth going on thirty-five years. Even now, people are wary of us. Of any telepathic species."

"You were raised on Earth?" Gently asks. He's looking at Todd with unabashed curiosity, but he doesn't stare at his black irises the way some humans do, or act like Todd is a threat. He's just waiting for a response. Todd's not in the habit of spying on people's thoughts, but he cautiously lowers his guard enough to probe the miasma of emotions around Gently, and finds only curiosity and hope. No wariness, no distrust.

"Yeah," he says. "My dad's human. Me and my sister–we're only half Betazoid, and my abilities are nothing special. Amanda's way more powerful than I'll ever be."

"She can read thoughts?"

"If she wanted to," Todd says. "Not that she would. I mean, nothing worse than cheating at poker. When she was a kid though, she didn't have much choice. Her abilities manifested really early–practically from birth. She couldn't control them for years. Sometimes she'd be in so much pain from all the thoughts and feelings around her, she couldn't even get out of bed."

"I'm sorry," Gently says, "that's terrible." He pauses. "And _so_ interesting."

Todd tries to feel angry at this, but Gently's compassion for Amanda is real, and his curiosity is like a kid's: genuine and without malice. He rolls his eyes instead.

"Thanks, Gently," he says. "Good to know you find us interesting."

"Why do you do that?" Gently asks, tilting his head to the side in that way he has.

Todd pauses with his coffee halfway to his mouth.

"Do what?"

"Call me by my last name."

"Oh," he says, blinking. "I... we're in Starfleet. Everyone goes by their last names."

"Not everyone."

"Everyone except Ken," Todd amends, and Gently grins.

"I prefer Dirk," he says, and after all his tactlessness and prying, he suddenly sounds _shy_. Todd keeps his shields firmly in place. Any more poking around Gently's emotions would be crossing a dangerous line.

"Fine," he says. "Dirk. You can call me Todd, when we're not on duty."

Dirk smiles at him sunnily.

"I was going to," he assures him.

 

*

 

They're on the bridge the next day when things come to a head. Todd is mostly ignoring Dirk, who has spent all morning playing furtive and entirely one-sided games, in the hope that Todd will crack and join in.

"Is it an animal?" he whispers to Todd, tapping his fingers on the console.

"I'm not _playing_ twenty questions," Todd mutters back, staring resolutely at the star charts in front of him, even though he knows them like the back of his hand at this point.

"Sir," Amanda says, "private communication from Starfleet."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Spring says, standing. "I'll take it in my ready room. Estevez, you have the conn."

"Is it a vegetable?" Dirk whispers, and Todd sighs.                  

Spring's been in there for no more than two minutes when the trepidation that's been dogging Todd's steps for the past week abruptly creeps up a few notches. He looks over at Dirk, and sees him frowning at his controls, rubbing his fingers together absently.

"Yes," he whispers, and Dirk looks up at him, startled. "It's a vegetable."

Dirk grins and opens his mouth, but then Amanda says,

"Lieutenant Gently, Captain Spring wants to see you in his ready room," and the feeling of foreboding coalesces, a solid weight in Todd's chest.

Dirk looks up, and then rises to his feet and walks to the ready room. Todd looks at Amanda. He doesn't have to wonder anymore if she can feel it too. She's looking at him in something close to panic.

Dirk doesn't come back to his post that shift. Todd can't remember the name of the ensign they send to replace him.

 

*

 

Dirk answers the door to his quarters almost immediately when Todd chimes for entry, looking tired and defeated. He tries gamely to smile when he sees Todd.

"Dirk!" Todd pushes his way inside, looking him up and down. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Dirk says, sitting on the edge of his bed. Todd sits next to him.

"What did the captain want?"

"He..." Dirk looks lost, swallowing and clasping his hands together. "He wanted to tell me... it turns out I was right."

"Right about what?"

"Someone is getting court-martialled. It's my old commander, Captain Riggins."

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I really do appreciate you coming with me, you know. This would be much worse by myself."
> 
> "That's okay," Todd says, wondering, not for the first time, what he's actually doing here. Dirk had been so scared when he told Todd he had to testify against his old captain. It didn't seem right to let him go alone. He'll just go and have a look around the starbase while Dirk testifies, and later they can have a beer or something. No need to get any more involved with this than he already is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!! Thank you for your kind comments on the first chapter. I hope you like this one. And thanks again to dontoffendthebees for the [amazing art](http://lavellington.tumblr.com/post/164859204637/dont-offend-the-bees-i-think-were-going-to-be)! <33

Starbase Eleven is, as always, busy and chaotic when they beam down. The transporter tech, a cheerful young Andorian, tells them to enjoy their stay as they step off the platform. Dirk smiles at her nervously.

"Are you _sure_ you don't mind coming with me?" he asks Todd, as they step into the noisy corridor. "I'm aware this isn't exactly how most people would choose to spend their shore leave."

The place is teeming with Starfleet personnel, both in uniforms and civilian clothes, and there's a sense of momentum, a crackle of excitement, that smacks of shore leave.

"I told you," he says to Dirk, "it's fine. Come on, let's go find our quarters."

Todd's used to having to share a room when he's on leave–only senior officers get private accommodations on a starbase this busy–but sharing with Dirk is already a unique experience. They get their stuff squared away in the small room, and Todd watches in bemusement as Dirk scatters his things over his bed and nightstand, and deliberately pulls out the neat corners of the bedspread with a noise of satisfaction.

"Too neat," he explains, when he sees Todd looking at him. "I don't like it, it reminds me of sickbay."

"How did someone who hates every aspect of military life end up in Starfleet, anyway?" Todd asks, watching as Dirk flings his shoes into opposite corners of the room.

"Starfleet is not a military organisation," Dirk says primly, "it's an exploratory, peacekeeping _armada_ –"

"Yeah, yeah," Todd says. "I am a Starfleet officer too. I've read the orientation pamphlets. I just mean, you don't seem much for regulations. How'd you get through the academy?"

"I never went to the academy," Dirk says. "I've lived on a starship since I was twelve."

"That... explains so much about you," Todd says, and Dirk gives him a dark look.

"I'll have you know that I was taught by the some of the best tutors and most experienced officers in the fleet. I may not get all the Academy jokes and slang everyone's always passing around, but I know how to find my way around a ship better than any of you."

"Hey," Todd says, raising his hands in surrender, "okay, man. I didn't mean anything..."

Dirk relaxes, looking sheepish.

"Sorry," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands pressed together between his knees. "I really do appreciate you coming with me, you know. This would be much worse by myself."

"That's okay," Todd says, wondering, not for the first time, what he's actually doing here. Dirk had been so scared when he told Todd he had to testify against his old captain. It didn't seem right to let him go alone. He'll just go and have a look around the starbase while Dirk testifies, and later they can have a beer or something. No need to get any more involved with this than he already is.

"Hey," he says, glancing at his chrono. "We still have an hour before you have to go in. Let's go get something... decaffeinated."

Dirk smiles at him gratefully.

"Excellent idea, Todd. Good strategic thinking."

 

*

 

"I hear there's a court martial today," Todd hears, as a Cardassian and a human in science blues pass their table. "A Starfleet _captain_."

"Ugh," the human says. "Twenty credits says it's Kirk again."

Todd looks over at Dirk, who is apparently too preoccupied by his tea to have heard the exchange. They've both changed into their dress uniforms, and Dirk looks as uncomfortable as Todd feels. He tries again to adjust the stiff fabric over his shoulders, and gives up.

"So, how long has it been since you've seen this guy?" Todd asks.

Dirk looks up at him blankly.

"Riggins? Over ten years. When I transferred from the _Blackwing_."

"Always thought that was a weird name for a starship," Todd admits, and Dirk snorts.

"Yes," he says, "so did everyone. Apparently it was named after something from Earth military history. I can't quite recall."

"Do you have any idea what this might be about?" Todd treads carefully, but the look on Dirk's face would be an answer even if he couldn't feel trepidation pulsing from him in waves. He knows something. Or he suspects. Even with his shields up, Dirk's emotions are so _clear_.

"I'm not exactly sure," he says slowly, "but I think it might have something to do with... telepaths."

Todd's stomach flips uncomfortably, and he sits a little straighter in his chair.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Dirk says, glancing up at him, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that many psi null species are fascinated by telepathy."

"Yeah," Todd says, warily.

"In the time I was aboard the _USS Blackwing_ , a Vulcan, a Betazoid, and a half-Deltan botanist all transferred or resigned their commissions. I didn't put it together at the time; it was only afterwards I realised what they had in common. And I've always had an unusually high esper rating for a human, something the captain found... interesting."

Todd feels sick. He can't tell if it's him, or if the feeling is coming from Dirk, or if it's all part of the strange cloud that's been hovering over him lately.

"Riggins used to ask me questions," Dirk continues, still staring at his untouched tea. "He seemed to think that I had some insight into people, or situations, that could be tactically useful to him. At first, I thought he just liked me. Saw potential in me. When I realised that he saw me as a... a _tool–_ "

Dirk breaks off, pursing his lips. He looks vulnerable without his usual grin, his shoulders tense and his eyes downcast.

"So you think he was... what, exactly? Exploiting the telepaths on the crew?"

Dirk bites his lip.

"I don't know." He throws his hands up in frustration. "I don't _know_. I just know something was off. Something was screaming at me to get off that ship."

"How high _is_ your esper rating?" Todd asks, curious despite his discomfort.

"Ninety one," Dirk says, absently, "the last time I had it tested."

Todd's eyebrows shoot up.

"Wow," he says. "That is high, for a human."

"Riggins always said I could be a good leader, with instincts like that. That it would help me read people, give me an advantage." He looks at Todd beseechingly. "I didn't like it. Even if I were capable of it, I didn't like what he wanted me to do."

"It's okay," Todd says. He wonders if he should do something spectacularly awkward, like put a comforting hand on Dirk's arm. "You think I haven't had people say that shit to me? I don't like manipulating people either. So you asked for a transfer."

Dirk shrugs one shoulder.

"At the time, it felt like my only option. In hindsight, I should have said something. I should have reported him. But I just left."

"You looked up to him," Todd says, softly.

Dirk nods slowly, pushing his tea away.

"For a long time, he was all I had."

Todd's chronometer beeps on his wrist, and they both look at it. Todd touches the screen to cancel the reminder.

"Time to go," he says.

Dirk nods.

"You're coming in?" he says, with forced casualness.

"Yeah," Todd says, "of course."

 

*

 

The Commodore in charge of the court martial is a woman named Wilson, and to Todd's eyes she looks startlingly young to hold that rank. However, she rings the bell to convene the court, and names the officers present, with the composure typical of high level Starfleet brass. Riggins sits at the front with his lawyer, his head bowed. The prosecution lawyer is leaning back in her chair, and she surveys the room with a cool confidence, her eyes lingering on Dirk.

Todd shifts in his chair, watching Dirk where he sits with the other witnesses. The tension in the room is stifling, and the dress uniform isn't helping. He surreptitiously runs a finger around the inside of his collar as the prosecution lawyer–Lennox–calls her first witness.

As the two lawyers question Riggins' CMO and his records officer, it becomes apparent Dirk's earlier guess was right. At least five telepathic or psi-sensitive officers have disappeared or died under mysterious circumstances since Riggins got command of the _Blackwing_. The prosecution have recovered fragments of his deleted personal logs from the ship's computer, and it doesn't look good for him. Dirk looks increasingly sick with each passing question.

"Your honour," Lennox says, as the _Blackwing_ 's records officer steps down, "I would like to call Lieutenant Dirk Gently."

Dirk stands, smoothing down his dress uniform, and walks to the witness chair. He shoots Lennox a nervous smile as he sits down, and Todd winces. Lennox regards him impassively, and Dirk wilts further, squirming in his stiff tunic.

"Mr Gently," she begins, once the computer has relayed Dirk's name, rank, and current assignment, "please confirm for the court the nature of your former assignment to the _USS Blackwing_."

Dirk clears his throat.

"When I was eighteen years old, I was appointed an ensign on the _Blackwing_ , in operations. When I was twenty, I entered the rotation of regular navigation officers."

"And when you were twenty two," Lennox says, still seated and looking almost bored, "you requested and were granted a transfer to the USS Farragut, correct?"

"Yes," Dirk says, tapping his fingers nervously on his knees.

"Can you explain for the court the nature of your relationship with Captain Riggins?"

"He... Captain Riggins was one of the first on the scene after the lab explosion that killed my mother. He rescued me, and took me aboard his ship. I had no family, so he petitioned to keep me aboard the _Blackwing_ , and I was raised there."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve," Dirk says.

"So Captain Riggins was, in many ways, a father figure to you."

Dirk looks at Riggins, whose head remains bowed, and purses his lips.

"I suppose you could say that."

There's a pause while Lennox consults her PADD, and then stands up, rounding the table to stand in front of Dirk. He watches her apprehensively.

"Are you aware that you are one-quarter Betazoid?"

_What?_

Dirk is looking at her, eyes huge, and if he knew about this then he's a damn good actor.

"I don't–I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're saying."

"Your father," Lennox says clearly, "was half Betazoid on his mother's side. He was a strong empath, and possessed limited telepathic abilities, although he never received psionic training."

"No," Dirk says, shaking his head, "that can't be... someone would have _told_ me."

Lennox tilts her head as if puzzled, but her eyes are sharp.

"Captain Riggins mentions it more than once in his personal log. His notes on you suggest that you manifested marked empathic traits from adolescence–especially an ability to detect dishonesty or deceit in others. He frequently brought you to diplomatic meetings for this reason."

Dirk's eyes are shining as he stares at her.

"He told me... he said he didn't know who my father was. He said he rescued me when my mother died. That's what he _said_."

"Mr Gently," Lennox says, with an air of strained patience. "You are an empath. You have an esper rating of ninety one. Captain Riggins in his notes more than once refers to you as a _human lie detector_. You never detected any dishonesty in the Captain's behaviour?"

Dirk falters, his eyes darting towards Riggins, who is still staring stoically ahead.

"When I got older," he says, wringing his hands in his lap, "I began to suspect that he was using me. He told me I was special. He told me about the high esper rating. He used to ask me questions about ambassadors visiting the ship, or..."

Dirk pauses, glancing towards Admiral Komack, seated next to Commodore Wilson.

"Or members of the admiralty?" Lennox asks, following his gaze.

"Yes," Dirk says, softly. "Nothing specific–he would just ask me for my impressions of them. He never told me about... about my father. When I applied for a transfer he tried to talk me out of it."

"You had no suspicion that he was abducting and experimenting on telepaths?"

" _No_ ," Dirk says. "I never would have... I would have stopped him. Or reported him."

"Isn't it true," Lennox says, making a show of consulting her PADD, "that Captain Riggins often used your... intuitions to help him identify telepathic and psi-sensitive crew members, many of whom later disappeared?"

Dirk shakes his head vehemently.

"No," he says, "absolutely not. I would _never_ –"

"You deny that Captain Riggins would frequently have dinners to which he invited select crew members, and that you were always present, sitting at his left hand? And that he would ask your opinion on the new recruits afterwards?"

Dirk's face drains of all colour. He grips the sides of his chair.

"Answer the question, Lieutenant," Commodore Wilson says.

"Yes," Dirk breathes. "I mean, no. I don't deny it. He used to say..." He closes his eyes, and Todd has to grit his teeth against the wave of emotion coming from the front of the room–horror, betrayal, _shame_. "He used to say I was good luck."

"As far as we know, you are the only telepath who served on the _USS Blackwing_ and escaped unscathed," Lennox says, putting her PADD aside and looking directly at Dirk. "I'd say there's more than good luck at play here."

She nods briefly at Commodore Wilson as she sits down.

"No further questions."

 

*

 

Todd slips out after Dirk steps down, another former Blackwing crewmember stepping up to testify. He goes back to their shared quarters, lies on his bed, and stares at the ceiling. A lot of things about the past couple of weeks are starting to make sense, and he needs to figure out what to say before Dirk comes back.

He doesn't move when he hears the door _whoosh_ open an indeterminate amount of time later. He hears Dirk sit on the bed and take off his shoes, throwing them into the corner, one thump after another. He still doesn't move as Dirk lays down on the bed, exhaling shakily.

For the second time since they met, he consciously lets himself tune into Dirk's emotions, just a little. The swirl of confusion, betrayal, and misery is the blue of Dirk's eyes. It's clear, and painful, and unfeigned. He really didn't know. Dirk might be a quarter Betazoid, but it's pretty clear–pretty painfully clear–that no one has ever taught him how to deal with that. Todd carefully settles his own shields back in place before he sits up.

Dirk looks over at him, and then mirrors him, folding one leg underneath himself as he faces Todd from his narrow bed. He's still pale, his eyes red and his hair messy from the pillow.

"You okay?" Todd asks.

Dirk looks heartbreakingly surprised by this question.

"I'm not sure," he says. "It's a lot to take in, but it does... explain some things."

Todd nods.

"Those people," Dirk says, "that went missing..."

"Not your fault," Todd says, immediately. He hesitates, and then allows himself to project the tiniest wave of reassurance, a tendril of sympathy to curl around the cloud of misery Dirk is exuding. Dirk catches his breath and looks at him, eyes wide.

"You're not shielding," Todd says.

Dirk tilts his head questioningly.

"Should I be?"

Todd exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. The short answer is _yes_ , _idiot._ The answer he's going to give, the one Dirk absolutely needs to hear, is... kind of long.

"I was eight when Amanda was born," he says. "The first six months after my parents brought her home, I went into a severe depression."

Dirk is watching him quietly, pale and drawn and trusting. Todd takes a breath and ploughs ahead.

"Like I said, she had unusually strong empathic abilities from when she was a baby. They would have been strong even for a full Betazoid. I was still a little way off puberty, so my abilities were only just starting to manifest, and mostly just around other telepaths, or people I knew well. Nobody had bothered teaching me to shield yet. There was no point."

He still remembers being eight years old with a stark, miserable clarity that stands out in the blur of an otherwise happy and unremarkable childhood. His grades suffered, his parents talked about him in hushed tones, and the other kids kept a safe distance at school. It was the first time he realised– _really_ realised–that he was different. And through it all, Amanda crying, whimpering from the next room as he lay awake at night, confused and exhausted.

"It wasn't her fault," he feels the need to say. "Obviously. She was just a baby. But she was picking up all this raw emotion from the people around her, and she had no way to deflect it, or process it, or even tell us what the problem was. And I was the nearest unshielded telepath, so..."

"The strength of her abilities acted as an amplifier," Dirk says, slowly. "You were close to her–emotionally as well as physically–so you felt what she was feeling."

His eyes widen as the point of Todd's story lands.

"Oh my–Todd! That's why you've been so tired! It's me! But... I don't understand. Aren't you shielding _now_?"

"Of course," Todd says. "It'd be a lot worse otherwise. But you're taking in a lot of emotional energy, and you've never been taught how to deal with it, so it's just freaking you out and feeding itself. Any telepath sitting next to you all day would be bound to feel it. I don't think it's affecting Amanda, with the meds she's on, but me..."

Dirk stands up, looking distressed.

"Well then, I should get away! It's hurting you!" His face crumples. " _I'm_ hurting you."

"No!" Todd says, standing and holding a hand out. Dirk backs away, looking queasy. "Dirk, this isn't your fault. And we can fix it! I can teach you how to shield."

"You can?"

"Yeah," Todd says, rubbing the back of his neck. Dirk is looking at him with pure, exhausted gratitude, and really this is nothing that merits that. "No big deal. Someone should have taught you years ago. I can't imagine what it's like in your head."

"Noisy," Dirk admits, with a small smile. "I can't sleep sometimes. I get overwhelmed if I'm around a lot of people, like I'm being buffeted from all sides. I never realised... I didn't know there was a way to switch it off."

Todd swallows, imagining punching Riggins in his smug, jowly face.

"I can help you," he says, and even though his shields are up, he can feel Dirk's gratitude like a hand on his shoulder.

 

*

 

He teaches Dirk a few simple shielding techniques that night, sitting opposite each other on their respective beds, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Todd has been learning this stuff since childhood, and it seems incredible to him that Dirk has managed so long without it. He can see the tension bleeding out of Dirk's shoulders already, and can feel the air around them both lightening, the relief making his skin tingle.

He's not sure how long they sit in silence before Dirk's eyes fly open, and he stares at Todd in wonder.

"Todd," he whispers. "Everything is so much quieter. I can _think_ properly."

"Good," Todd says, instinctively whispering back. He clears his throat and tries again, stronger. "Good."

 

*

 

Todd assumes he'll fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, given how little he's been resting over the last week, but something is gnawing at him, keeping him awake.

"Dirk?" he says, into the darkness.

"Hmm?" Dirk sounds like he's halfway asleep already.

"Did you want to join Starfleet? I mean, would you have, if Riggins hadn't taken you in?"

It seems important to ask Dirk this, somehow. Todd suspects no one ever has.

"I'm not sure," Dirk says, eventually. He sounds more contemplative than anything, so Todd waits, certain more is coming. "I might not have joined if it hadn't been for him. But I don't regret it. I'm on the right track."

"You want to have your own ship one day?" This is a pretty normal thing for officers to ask each other–a question begged by a gold tunic–but it feels strange to ask it of Dirk. Todd tries to picture Dirk as a captain, politely asking his officers to carry out his orders, or playing with the ship's cat in the centre chair.

"Maybe," Dirk says. "A science vessel, or a small exploratory ship. We wouldn't have to go to all the fancy ceremonies and wear the terrible dress uniforms. We could just hop from planet to planet and meet the locals, or find interesting plants. What about you? Do you want your own ship?"

"I don't know," Todd says. "I used to think I did."

"Well," Dirk says, "you could always be my first officer."

Todd turns his head to see if he's being messed with, but he can't make anything out in the darkness.

"I don't know," he says, seriously. "You seem like you'd be a real hardass."

"Nope," Dirk says. "Captain Gently, that's my motto. Of course, it would also be my name."

Todd laughs, an ugly little snort that he can't suppress, and then he's shaking with it, and Dirk is laughing too, the two of them snickering like cadets back in the Academy dorms.

"Dirk," he manages, turning onto his side and trying get his breath back. His chest aches from laughing. "Oh my god. That was the worst joke ever."

"You're... laughing," Dirk wheezes, wiping his eyes.

"I hate you," Todd says, still grinning as he calms down. "I refuse to serve under a Captain who tortures his crew with bad puns."

"Well," Dirk says around a yawn, "we'll see."

Todd closes his eyes, but doesn't contradict him. For the first time in weeks, and despite the rest of the trial hanging over them, he feel like he might get a proper night's sleep. He can feel Dirk's presence, steady and reassuring, as he drifts off.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't really picture you giving orders," Todd says.  
> "Excuse me," Dirk says, "Are you implying I lack authority? I'll have you know I can ooze authority, when the mood strikes me."  
> Todd tries and fails to suppress a grin.  
> "Sure you can," he says, soothingly.
> 
> *
> 
> In which the consequences of Riggins' actions bite everyone in the ass.
> 
> *
> 
> Hey, I haven't updated this in a million years, but I found this chapter almost finished in my drafts, so here you go! How is everyone? Good?

The next morning there are two burly, red-shirted security officers standing impassively outside the door of the courtroom. They don't blink as Todd and Dirk walk by on their way to breakfast.

 

"What do you reckon that's about?" Dirk whispers, walking a little closer to Todd.

 

"I'm not sure," Todd says, punching his order into the replicator. "They're shielding, but that might not mean anything."

 

"There was no one guarding the door yesterday," Dirk says, as they take their seats. He'd seemed a little more relaxed when they left their room that morning, like he'd finally got a good night's sleep, but now he's twitchy again, twisting to look over his shoulder and drumming his fingers on the table.

 

"It's not a closed court-martial," Todd says. "They shouldn't need anyone guarding the door. It's open to the public."

 

"Not anymore," a voice says behind him, and Todd jumps, almost spilling his coffee.

 

"Ambassador Spring," he says, scraping his chair back, but Lydia Spring places a hand on his shoulder, and he stops, uncertainly.

 

"May I join you?" she asks.

 

"Of course," Dirk says, darting a look at Todd.

 

Lydia Spring sits down, smiling at them both in a tired sort of way. Todd, despite his instinctive and well-earned wariness of politicians and diplomats, feels a flare of sympathy towards her. He tends to forget, when he sees her smiling and shaking hands with Federation officials on the vidfeeds, that she's so much younger than him.

 

"Do you..." Dirk hesitates, like he's trying for diplomacy himself, and then visibly decides not to bother. "What's going on? With the court martial?"

 

"We're presenting new evidence today," Lydia says. " _I_ am presenting new evidence. Of a... sensitive nature. The Commodore decided the court martial should be closed to civilians and press."

 

"What evidence?" Dirk says, leaning forward.

 

"You'll see, Mr Gently," Lydia says, but her attention has already left them, her eyes focused on the other side of the room. Todd looks around and sees the Ridgley's head of security, Farah Black, making her way towards them.

 

Farah offers Dirk and Todd a terse nod apiece when she reaches the table.

 

"Gently, Brotzman. Ambassador, are you ready to go in?"

 

"Yes, Farah. I'm ready." Lydia rises, and then pauses, looking at Dirk. "You shouldn't blame yourself. A lot of people trusted him."

 

Dirk, taken aback, looks at Todd for help. Todd shrugs as subtly as possible.

 

"Thank you," Dirk says to Lydia. "I'll keep that in mind."

 

They sit in silence as Lydia and Farah move towards the doors of the courtroom, the two immense security officers parting silently to let them pass.

 

 

*

 

The atmosphere within the courtroom that morning is more tense than the day before, either because of the new security measures, or because word has spread about Ambassador Spring's sensitive testimony. When Lydia Spring seats herself in the witness chair, the room goes abruptly silent. Todd and Dirk are sitting a couple of rows behind Farah, who is sitting ramrod straight, her eyes fixed on Lydia and her hand flexing on her thigh, near her holster.

 

The prosecution lawyer stands up, but doesn't move to stand in front of the witness chair as she did with Dirk. Lydia Spring regards her calmly.

"Ambassador Spring," the lawyer says, her voice ringing out in the silent room. "I understand you are here today to present evidence relevant to Captain Riggins' alleged experimentation on psionic crew members. Is that correct?"

"Not exactly," Lydia says. "The person in question is not a crew member. She is not even a member of Starfleet."

"How did you meet this person?"

"I encountered her on a diplomatic mission to Rigel V," Lydia says. "She attacked my security team, but was stunned by a phaser blast before anyone was seriously hurt."

"What is her connection to Captain Riggins?" the lawyer asks.

"She claims that Captain Riggins kidnapped her as a child from her home on Vulcan."

A murmur goes through the room, and several people in Starfleet uniforms sit up a little straighter.

"She is Vulcan?" the lawyer asks, ignoring the reaction.

"Yes," Ambassador Spring says, "although she is unlike any Vulcan I've ever encountered. She has not been raised in the teachings of Surak, and displays tendencies towards extreme violence."

"For what purpose did Captain Riggins kidnap this person?"

"She has told me that Captain Riggins sought to understand how her telepathy might be translated to prognostic abilities," Spring says, and the murmur returns, louder.

"Order," Commodore Wilson says, sharply, and the room settles. Todd can feel the collective uneasiness as a prickle on the back of his neck. "Continue, Ambassador."

"Captain Riggins told her that he believed the ability to form a telepathic link between sentient beings suggested the possibility of a link between a sentient being and the very fabric of the universe. She was unclear on the details, but she seemed to believe that she had some insight into the mechanics of space-time on a quantum level."

"In what way did Captain Riggins attempt to utilise these abilities?" the lawyer asks.

Lydia leans forward and says, clearly, "He taught her to kill."

 

 

*

 

After Lydia Spring's testimony there's a recess, and the crowd immediately starts buzzing as they swarm towards the doors. Todd glances sideways at Dirk, who is frowning and chewing on his lip. Spring's testimony had been vague - apparently the Vulcan woman wasn't very communicative. and they hadn't been able to get much out of her aside from her hatred of Riggins and tendency towards violence and murder.

Todd's about to either ask Dirk if he's okay or sidestep the issue completely and ask if he wants to get a coffee - he hasn't decided which as he opens his mouth - when a breathless ensign jogs up to them and says, "Lieutenant Brotzman! Captain Spring would like to see you back on the ship, sir."

"Thanks," he says instead, and the kid nods, snaps a salute, and disappears into the swarming crowds.

He looks at Dirk, who slaps on an unconvincing smile.

"Go on, then," he says nodding in the general direction of the transporter room. "Don't want to keep the Captain waiting."

"I'll come back," Todd says, not sure why he feels the need to say that, or why he feels so guilty that he's leaving in the first place.

Dirk seems to be wondering the same thing. The smile he aims at his shoes is pained, like he thinks Todd is messing with him somehow.

"You don't have to–"

"I'll come back, Dirk," Todd says, firmly.

Dirk nods, and Todd claps him on the shoulder before he turns to leave.

 

*

 

Captain Spring has always played his cards close to his chest, and his shields are pretty good for a human. So when Todd walks into his office and feels a distinct tang of unease in the air, his first thought is that Spring _wants_ him to feel it.

Spring himself is sitting behind his desk, an Earth antique from the 20th century, regarding Todd with his usual impassivity. A forest green blotter is the only item on the polished mahogany surface.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

Spring doesn't ask Todd to sit down, or tell him to stand at ease, so Todd stands to attention in front of the desk, waiting for the Captain to speak. He's asking himself, not for the first time and not for the last, why the hell he joined the kind of organisation that makes people stand to attention, when Spring speaks.

"How's the trial going?"

"I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask, sir."

"Hmm," Spring says. Todd recognises in him the same deliberate, imperturbable calm his daughter displayed in her testimony, and reminds himself to tread carefully. "How do you think Lieutenant Gently is handling it?"

"He already testified, sir. But they asked him to stay around during the trial in case they needed to call on him again."

"That's not what I asked," Spring says. "How's he handling it, testifying against his old captain?"

"He's not testifying against him, exactly," Todd says. "He didn't know what was happening when he was on the _Blackwing_. He just told the court what he remembers."

Spring leans forward, resting his elbows on the shiny desk. Todd keeps his gaze fixed on the wall above Spring's head.

"Mr Brotzman," he says. "Did Mr Gently tell you that he never went to the Academy?"

"Yes, sir."

 "And you don't you think that's strange?"

"I..." Todd trails off. "I guess so, sir."

"You guess so?" Spring's face is impassive as ever, but Todd can feel scepticism radiating off of him in waves. "Mr Brotzman, how many lieutenants do you know who _didn't_ graduate from Starfleet Academy?"

"He was raised on a starship, sir," Todd says. "He had private tutors on the ship. I think maybe he took remote classes."

"I'm aware of his educational record," Spring says, leaning back in his chair. "He wouldn't have been assigned to my ship if he was lacking in qualifications."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying, sir."

Spring stands up and walks over to his viewscreen, hands clasped behind his back. Todd keeps standing to attention, even though Spring isn't looking. He _hates_ standing to attention.

Spring turns around and regards him with amusement.

"At ease," he says, as if he's just noticed Todd's been standing ramrod straight for ten minutes. Todd shifts into parade rest, resisting the urge to crack his shoulders.

"So," Spring says, walking around to perch on the front of his desk. "You trust him?"

"With all due respect, sir," Todd says, "are you asking me this because I'm a telepath?"

"Partly," Spring says, unembarrassed. "And partly because you're his only friend on this ship. Who else would I ask?"

"I trust him," Todd says. "He's a pain in the ass, but I trust him. Uh, sir."

Spring snorts, folding his arms.

"Alright," he says. "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Todd salutes and turns to leave. He thinks the air feels calmer than when he arrived.

 

*

 

When he goes to the mess to grab a coffee before he heads back down, he's surprised to see Dirk sitting at a table by himself, nursing some kind of hot drink. As soon as Todd walks in, Dirk's head snaps up, his eyes meeting Todd's unerringly from across the room, and Todd almost shivers. Then Dirk smiles and waves at him, an awkwardly endearing gesture, and Todd raises a hand in return. He points at the replicator to indicate he's getting a coffee, and Dirk tilts his head in acknowledgement, going back to his drink. Something about the whole exchange feels slightly off, and completely natural. Todd shakes it off and goes to get his coffee.

"Hey," he says, sitting down opposite Dirk. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

"They finished up for the day," Dirk says, "and I didn't feel like staying on the starbase again. It's too crowded down there."

"Is it better?" Todd asks. "Now that you're shielding?"

"Yes," Dirk says, looking at him with pure, unfeigned gratitude. Todd can feel it in the air between them as acutely as he can see it in Dirk's eyes. It settles around his shoulders, a warm and comforting weight which somehow feels like the gold of Dirk's tunic.

"Good," Todd says. "I'm... glad."

He takes a too-large gulp of coffee, his face burning.

He feels the emotion around him diminish, as if Dirk has clumsily drawn a curtain over it. When he looks up, Dirk is avoiding his eyes.

"So," Todd says, "how did the rest of the testimony go?"

"It was fine," Dirk says. "Friedkin testified–that's Riggins' first officer, about as intelligent as my pet tribble, and not half as charming. Said he didn't know anything about what was happening on the ship. He may have been telling the truth for all I know."

"But you don't think he was?"

"No," Dirk says, looking up at him. "I think he was in on it. We were ensigns together. He was... he's not a nice person. The Friedkin I knew would choose power over compassion any day, even though he's remarkably ill-equipped to wield it."

"Anything else about the Vulcan?"

"No," Dirk says, "more of the same."

"Well," Todd says, "I guess we'll find out more tomorrow."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Dirk hesitates, and then, missing nonchalance by a couple of parsecs, asks, "What did the Captain want to talk to you about?"

"He asked me about the trial," Todd says. There's no point in lying. Dirk probably knows what people are saying about him.

"He wanted to know if you thought I was involved," Dirk says, resignedly.

"Yeah," Todd said. "He asked me if I trusted you."

"What did you say?"

"I said yes," Todd says.

"Thank you," Dirk whispers.

"I also said you were a pain in the ass," Todd adds, and Dirk grins, wide and warm, his eyes flying up to Todd's face.

"You used that language in front of the captain?" he says. He sounds like he might be making fun of him, but Todd can't quite tell.

"Yeah," he says, "turns out I'm not a model Starfleet officer either."

"Well," Dirk says, "I knew _that_."

Okay, definitely making fun of him. Todd kicks him under the table.

"Go screw yourself," he says amiably. Dirk grins wider.

"So," Dirk says, after a moment of silence. "I don't feel like going to bed. Do you... do you maybe fancy a game of chess? Or something?"

"Yeah," Todd says, surprised to find he genuinely does. He's not even considering making an excuse and escaping back to his room. "Okay. Let's go to rec room three, there's usually someone in there playing music during beta shift."

Dirk smiles at him, another glimmer of gratitude peeking out before he quickly masks it. Todd pretends not to notice.

 

*

 

"So," Dirk says, as they enter the turbolift, "why are you here, then?"

"Deck Two," Todd says, before he registers Dirk's question. He turns to look at him, eyebrows raised, as the lift starts to move. "Why am I... in the lift?"

" _No_ " Dirk says, rolling his eyes, "why are you in Starfleet? I told you about the unusual circumstances of my recruitment, it's your turn. Why is someone who has clear issues with authority and an intensely unsociable disposition–"

" _Hey,_ " Todd says.

"–oh, hush," Dirk says, dismissively. "You know what I mean. What made you go to the Academy?"

Todd shrugs, stepping out of the lift as the doors whoosh open.

"Amanda, I guess. She's all the family I have left, and she's wanted to go into space all her life. If she hadn't joined Starfleet she would have found another way to get up here."

"She's not command track," Dirk says, falling into step beside him.

"No," Todd says, "communications."

"Well," Dirk says, "when I have my own ship, you can both come and serve with me. I'll have a full complement of Brotzmans. Brotzmen?"

"You really want your own ship?"

"Yes," Dirk says, seeming unperturbed by Todd's scepticism. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I can't really picture you giving orders," Todd says.

" _Excuse_ me," Dirk says, "Are you implying I lack authority? I'll have you know I can ooze authority, when the mood strikes me."

Todd tries and fails to suppress a grin.

"Sure you can," he says, soothingly.

"I can too!" Dirk says indignantly. "Here, watch this."

He hails a gold-clad ensign who's passing them going the opposite direction.

"Ensign," he calls, and the kid turns around. "Lieutenant Brotzman and I are going to the rec room to play a game of chess. Go and get us a table."

"I'm off-duty," the ensign says, "and your insignia is upside-down. Sir."

He turns and walks off, leaving Dirk gaping after him. Todd waits until he's out of sight and they're the only ones in the corridor before he starts laughing, and then he can't stop.

"It's not funny!" Dirk shouts, hands on hips. Todd leans against the wall of the corridor, wheezing. "That always works when Farah does it!"

"Farah's the chief of security," Todd manages, wiping his eyes, "and could literally kick the crap out of anyone on this ship, if she wanted to."

"Well," Dirk says, sulkily, "I could steer us all into an asteroid field."

"I'd stop you," Todd says, pushing off the wall and walking over to him. He reaches out and taps Dirk's insignia, which is indeed upside-down. "You should really fix this. I don't want to be seen hanging out with someone who doesn't know which way up the Starfleet insignia goes."

"Maybe I put it that way on purpose," Dirk says, his face a little pink as he turns it the right way up. "You know, as an act of rebellion."

"Right," Todd says, "that sounds like something a guy with a pet tribble would do."

"You know," Dirk says, "you don't know me half as well as you think, Todd Brotzman."

"Give me time," Todd says, without thinking.

Dirk turns even pinker.

 

*

 

Maybe it's because Dirk has finally learned to shield, and is no longer acting as an emotional megaphone, but Todd realises, halfway through their chess game, that something has shifted between them. He's actually enjoying Dirk's company. He lets his shields drop just a little, the way he does with Amanda sometimes, so that Dirk can feel that Todd's having a good time. If no one ever taught Dirk the advantages of shielding, it's a pretty safe bet he's also ignorant of the advantages of a healthy, _controlled_ connection with someone else–a friend or a family member. Todd knows from experience that blocking everyone out is almost as bad as not protecting yourself at all.

After a few minutes, he notices Dirk noticing. At first all he's getting is surprise and confusion, but then Dirk tentatively sends back a nudge of something that feels like contentment. Todd smiles down at the chessboard.

"Your move," Dirk says. Todd raises his hand, but is seized mid-movement by a wave of sudden, towering panic.

He hears Dirk gasp across the table.

"What _is_ that?" Dirk says, gripping the edge of the table and staring at him.

"You feel it too?"

"Yes," Dirk says, his eyes unfocused. "Faintly. This is _fascinating_ –I don't think I would have recognised it for what it was before–I would have just thought it was an instinct, or a hunch, or a funny mood."

"It's...coming from more than one person," Todd says. "I think. Something bad is happening."

The doors whoosh open and Farah Black storms through, clearly in crisis mode. Todd and Dirk both stand up, Todd steadying himself with a hand on the table. It's times like this he realises his shields aren't worth _shit_.

"Lieutenant Gently," Farah says quietly, "you need to come with me."

"What is it?" Dirk asks, moving closer to Todd. "What's happened? Is someone hurt?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that now," Farah says. "For your own safety, I need you to come with me."

She gestures at the door and Dirk, glancing helplessly at Todd, goes. Farah walks after him, her hand resting on her phaser and her face like thunder.

Todd stands there for a second, next to their abandoned chess game, and then starts after them.

"Where are you taking him?" he says, jogging to catch up with Farah as she hustles Dirk to the lift.

"To a safe location," Farah says. "Brotzman, go back to the rec room."

"I want to go too," Todd says. Dirk stares at him.

Farah jabs the button for the lift like she's imagining it's Todd's face.

"That won't be possible," she says, "we need all members of the alpha crew to report to the bridge."

"Dirk's a member of the alpha crew," Todd protests.

"All members of the alpha crew except for Lieutenant Gently, who is being removed from the ship for his own safety."

The lift doors open, and Todd dives in after them before Farah can stop him.

"Deck Eleven," she says, her hand on the lever.

"You're taking a _shuttle_?" Todd says, and Farah glares at him. "Why don't you use the transporter?"

"The transporters are inoperational," Farah says. "A member of my security team will accompany Mr Gently in the shuttle."

"Accompany him where?" Todd says. "The starbase?"

"No," Farah says. "The _Lexington_ is nearby. They've agreed to rendezvous with us."

"Farah," Dirk says, grabbing her arm. "Please. What's going on?"

She looks between them, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Todd sees something soften in her face as her eyes meet Dirk's.

"Riggins is dead," she says, and Dirk turns abruptly grey, letting go of Farah's arm and swaying slightly. Even if he wasn't tuned into Dirk's emotions, Todd would have felt the shimmering aura of confusion and grief slowly filling the elevator. Underneath it all, there's a sick, guilty kernel of relief.

He puts his hand on Dirk's back, trying to surreptitiously help him keep his balance.

"Dirk," Farah says, gently. "We're going to make sure you're safe. Just trust me, okay?"

The lift doors open, and Todd turns to see a woman with matted, filthy hair standing in the corridor, staring at them. If it wasn't for the pointed ears and telltale sweeping eyebrows, Todd never would have pegged her for a Vulcan. She looks almost feral.

There are four red-shirted security officers sprawled in the corridor behind her. Two of them are bleeding, and none of them are moving.

In the split second it takes for Todd to register this scene, the Vulcan's arm swings up like it's on a wire, and without any apparent need to aim, she fires her phaser once, directly at Farah, who goes down, hard, before she can reach her own holster.

"Farah!" Todd starts towards her, but the Vulcan swings her phaser round to him, and he stops. He grabs Dirk's wrist, and feels his pulse jumping madly under his fingers.

The Vulcan regards them, her head bowed, staring up at them through a tangle of matted hair.

"Hi, Dirk," she says.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the [ amazing art that dontoffendthebees did for this! ](http://lavellington.tumblr.com/post/164859204637/dont-offend-the-bees-i-think-were-going-to-be) Thank you, friend! I love it.


End file.
